Purge
by Steahl
Summary: THis is a dark fic with AniPadme, post Ep 2. WARNING: Contains violence and grief. Anakin going over the memory of his mother's death with Padme


**Purge**

"It was like this" he whispered. He sounded hoarse, almost haunted as he gently stroked hair back from her face. "This was how I found her…it must have been terrifying for her…" he continued, then abruptly stood and paced around the room, though his eyes never left hers.

"Tell me it scares you"

She swallowed thickly against the odd dryness in her mouth and blinked slowly. "…no Ani….it doesn't" it sent a shiver down her spine to see his pacing turn predatory as her words reached him.

"Why not? This…" he waved negligently, ropes and cross braces tweaking to his whim as he watched her face closely "…is not something anyone is trained for, not even Senators."

Padme flexed her bound wrists, a burning numbness spreading down her arms…that she could ignore. It was no more than muscle stress after all. As long as she knew the source, it wasn't bad…what bothered her far more was the slow, puzzled rage she'd seen eating Anakin from the inside since their return from Tattoine. If this was the outlet he chose… "Because I do not fear _you_ Anakin"

It was almost frightening at how calm and serene his face went at those words; lazy slackness crossing his features, as if he had found some odd satisfaction at her answer. "I did tell you not to didn't I pretty Padme? What if I had lied to you? What if….you had reason to fear?" it was the sheer calmness of his tone that made her shiver in apprehension.

"Have I?" she asked quietly, suddenly disliking how the shadows in the room played across his body. It was a purely atavistic reaction, natural fear of the dark perhaps, but it was a weakness she disliked displaying, much less after a chillingly simply statement.

His lack of an answer was not encouraging. Instead his teeth flashed whitely in a smile as he drew deeper into the shadows, stepping lightly enough that for a moment she wasn't able to discern where he was "They struck in full daylight, strong, glaring sunlight so clear and warm that no one could believe a trip to the settlement would end so horribly" his voice whispered along the skin of her back.

And he sounded terrifying reasonable as he spoke…what had she gotten herself into when she asked him to share his troubles!

"Daylight is a time of duty and guard at _their_ camps. No one has time for prisoners or spoils until the sun abandons everything. That's when it began. No doubt there was a fight, my mother was beautiful, a prize…only the strongest and cruelest would have been able to secure her for himself. She simply sat waiting, silently crying, tied to prevent escape…but you, Padme, you don't cry…" he mused, tightening the bonds at her wrists and lashing another soft rope to her legs.

No, there were no tears from her, silent or otherwise. She'd not show weakness when he needed her to understand what plagued his mind, his waking hours.

"Fighting does not last long in the tribes, no, she did not have that reprieve, that hope. A victor soon emerged…" he pulled her head back viciously, knotting his fist in her hair from behind and running his tongue along the beating pulse of her throat.

She couldn't help it; the jerk drew a pained whimper from her. At that single sound Anakin released her hair and hung his head. "You begin to see" he murmured, moving to unbind her. She had barely drawn a part of the story from him, and to spare her he was going to stop, bear the pain alone…no. "Stop" she commanded as she felt the bindings shift. "Go on."

It made him pause, hands hovering for a moment, and then he nodded curtly. Instead of loosening her bonds, he yanked on her arms, testing the knots "He was thorough. No risk of escape, no hint of laxness, and then he noticed her tears" he drew his fingertips softly down his wife's face, miming the trails such would leave. "And in the desert, it is criminal, dishonorable to waste such water"

Such sorrow tinted his voice that for a moment, she was distracted by the tension singing through his fingertips. Only a moment, then she noticed the impact, her head snapping back once more from the stinging blow across her cheek that made shadows and light swim in her vision as the taste of copper filled her mouth.

"She wouldn't stop crying, and for that disobedience she moved from "Valued possession" to "Worthless prisoner" that is when the execution began. They are fond of death, like to observe it, study it. It lasted for weeks. First they started on her hands." He gently cupped her delicate hands in his and smiled wanly…and the burning numbness blossomed into true pain.

It was unlike anything she had ever felt, the slow grinding of bones in her hand like needle edged shards of glass. Coldness followed in the wake of the pain, seeping from her fingertips as warmth pooled and flowed down her arms.

"After that little amusement they escalated to a rib a day. She wished fervently for one to pierce her lung, to die slowly choking to death on blood rather than live to see each new day. But she did Padme…she did."

If the hands had been agony, the ribs were a shock. There was an almost inaudible crunch, a snap as she felt the flexible bones completely leave the alignment long ago dictated by biology. Raw fire burned in her chest, bands of pain shooting along the fractured bones and sending spikes into her brain. It was all she could do to remain awake, remain conscious. She had bitten her lip at the first rib, she clenched down further still at each successive snap; each break done just far enough apart to keep her from bracing for the next.

"Horribly methodic, _their_ people. Working down from the ribs there's no bones to break that would still leave the person able to feel each new pain. No blessed paralysis to save her, no the worst was yet to come. Where do you suppose the struck next?" he asked, his voice almost a dead whisper as his finger stroked along her ribs and sides to play gently along her hips.

She was glad that Anakin was behind her, unable to see the look of dawning horror on her face as her knees were thrust roughly apart. It was…a nightmare. No fear in women went deeper than that. The blossoming pain, the blood, was as nothing compared to the soul shrinking horror of it. Even she, strong as she was, quailed at this. She felt her mind trying to run further and further away at each grind and thrust, and eventually, she succeeded, because after that she began to see things through a haze of pain and shock. Soul numbed indifference beginning to wrap her safely within its arms.

"So much blood Padme…and they didn't stop there. No, the continued, her knees, her feet." His voiced choked at each successive injury, but he continued. "And she did not die. No, they used her, again, and again…"

It was all beginning to fade away into a rocking, painful dream. Her smashed knees grinding like metal, her feet protesting each bump against the hard edged framework or floor…and the use, dear god the use didn't stop. Continued, and continued, her ribs screaming an angry chorus…and then a searing pain in her chest; a pure, unending fire, clean and precise among the haze of indignity and abuse.

"It was over eagerness that killed her." Anakin said, hanging his head as he stilled behind her, feeding her mind his mother's last moments by sheer will alone. "A misplaced hand sent one of the ribs into her lung, her breath bubbled out in a wash even as I arrived, a shocked _tribesman_ still sheathed within her."

And there was release. Sheer, comforting darkness, cradling her gently, soothing away the shock and the pain "Death" she whispered.

"Yes, death." Anakin agreed softly, gently untying his wife and laying her on the bed, soothing the images of her ravaged body with the truth of her supple limbs and sound bones. "How many times must I relive this Padme?" he whispered, hugging her tightly.

"As many times as it takes" she answered softly.


End file.
